VIDEO; A Certifiably Sane Guitarist

Jazz is full of exceedingly strange people, but the guitarist Jim Hall isn't one of them. Indeed, the lasting impression of Mr. Hall after this documentary ends is of a mild-mannered, curious Midwesterner in his 60's who is admired by his colleagues because he is so certifiably sane. (''I want to be like him when I grow up,'' says the fully-grown saxophonist Greg Osby, when asked to sum up Mr. Hall at one point in the film.)

The film, by Bruce Ricker, benefits from good timing: Mr. Hall is now going through a creative burst. He has suddenly discovered an affinity for writing arrangements, and he has been releasing a slew of albums, showing off his expanded visions, with brass and string sections and guest soloists. The film's contemporary segments center on the recording of Mr. Hall's most recent album, ''By Arrangement,'' and because it involves some of Mr. Hall's friends (including the saxophonist Joe Lovano, the guitarist Pat Metheny and Mr. Osby), it manages to lead some of jazz's more important figures into excited assessments of Mr. Hall's accomplishments.

Outside of the recording studio, Mr. Hall narrates his own life, with film footage of him playing with Jimmy Giuffre, Chico Hamilton, Sonny Rollins and other performers, as well as glimpses of Mr. Hall's domestic life with his wife and daughter. As he talks, he's measured in his self-assessment, and wryly funny; he's a reliable guide to his own career, and the film lets him tell most of the story.

METALLICA: 'CUNNING STUNTS''

Elektra, $29.98, 120 minutes.

There's a visal cliche of rock concert films that just won't go away: a slow-motion pan across a swath of cheering fans, seen undulating in inky, grainy light as they stand, bellow and pump their fists. This image is repeated so many times in ''Cunning Stunts,'' a concert video shot in Fort Worth during Metallica's 1997 tour, that it almost makes the film seem generic.

As metal shows go, this tour actually provided a lot to look at: the band stretched across two enormous stages linked by ramps, and the stunt referred to in the film's title is a mock equipment-malfunction disaster in which a cranelike bay of lights collapsed and a lighting roadie ended up running across the stage in flames.

Perhaps there was no way to capture that spectacle adequately on film, but I'm sure it could have been done with more style than the director Wayne Isham displays here. While the stunt came well before the end of the live show, on the video it happens just before the last song; as it's a two-hour video with no other elements besides the band running through the songs, the pacing feels wrong. Any sort of extra fillip would have been welcome: comments during the credits on how the stunts were pulled off; shots of rehearsals for the musicians or the stage crew; self-contained interviews. As it is, it's too tempting to turn off the video before the climax arrives, and Metallica seems so removed from the audience on its colossal stage that a viewer might quickly grow bored.